Remember that time when I felt confident in my ability to overcome any 'roach problem I may face here in the concrete jungle? I hearken back to my first post, written a little over 2 years ago. Well, many things have changed since then. I graduated college, performed Shakespeare, booked jobs, quit jobs, built a sizable resume, was hired on in a full-time capacity at an off-broadway show, and, apparently somewhere along the way, lost my ability to conquer 'roaches in any situation. Even dead ones. Let me elucidate.

It's 12.45am. It's been a long, exciting, fulfilling day off, and I am ready to get some shut eye. I settle down on my lovely, new, queen size bed and, of course, CAN'T fall asleep. I toss and turn. Stry gets up, gives me a back massage, goes to eat, snuggles some more, then wanders off. I toss and turn a little more. Fluff my pillow. Look out the window. My eyes find their way down to my compilation of Shakespeare's plays in my window sill. How long have I left that there, I wonder. Then, from the glow of outside light gleaming into my darkened abode, I see something that SHOULD. NOT. BE. I hastily reach for my light, but, alas! It's unplugged! I leap off my bed and race for the light switch.

At that moment, I hear Strider vomiting in the bathroom. Torn between going to help and comfort my little love and confirming in the unforgiving light that which I know is lurking on the window sill, of course I go to Stry. After cleaning up the floor and comforting my boy, the moment has come. I dash to my bedroom and vault onto the covers, scrambling over the pillows to face my enemy. A Giant. Ugly. Long Limbed. Possiblyatonepointflyingbuthopefullynowdead. Devil in squirm-inducing form. Yes, dear readers. A cockroach. When was the last time I met a nefarious foe of this ilk? Too recently, dear readers. Too. Recently.

Pretty sure (but not QUITE sure enough), the beast was dead, I hasten to the kitchen to retrieve my handy-dandy dust-buster, thinking to suck the intruder up. But, AH! It's TOO BIG! Too. Big. What to do? My mind flips through all the various people I could call for help. Friend's in the city? Won't get here fast enough. Strider? The furry little cutie already failed in protecting me once. Rebekah? She'd be freaked out, too. Boyfriend? Don't have one. Mom? .....

So yes, dear readers, as you may have guessed, I called good ol' mom. Very good ol' mom in this case, because not only did I wake her up (sorry about that), but when I tried to let her go back to bed, she asked if I wanted her to stay on the line while I dealt with the bugbear. (Which, of course, I did :)

9 minutes, folks. 9. Minutes. That's how long it took me to get the brown/black bug from the windowsill to the toilet, to be flushed away for(hopefully)ever.

And that is why I am writing this (long overdue) post, at 1.48am. Because, even though I've dragged my bed to be an island in the middle of the bedroom, I'm horrified about what might go crawling in the night. I'm grossed out, because I'm SURE that dark specter had its creepy legs ALL OVER my pillows and blankets. I'm exhausted because I just had a fright and adrenaline coursing through my body for the third time today.

But can we just take a moment to appreciate that everytime Stry throws up, an evil, giant bug does NOT decide to appear? Anyone? Just me...?